


les voleurs de mariage

by silentwalrus



Series: snackfic [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, I know literally nothing about weddings and even less about catholicism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 03:26:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15258387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentwalrus/pseuds/silentwalrus
Summary: Anon asked:Sorry if this is too much. I've been obsessed with better than to bend since I read it. I can't help but imagine if Steve was found earlier, Bucky was rescued and Steve married both of them like he wanted and lived their lives. Do you have any headcanons on this version? Details!! I want them to be h a p p y and it's too much to ask for in canon. And! In ITHLYN does the team ever find out Steve's relationships with both? I'd LOVE to see you write out their reactions. Only if you want to. Thanks!





	les voleurs de mariage

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Брачные аферисты](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15400878) by [fandom_Starbucks_Roles_TwoSexyMen_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Starbucks_Roles_TwoSexyMen_2018/pseuds/fandom_Starbucks_Roles_TwoSexyMen_2018), [Tressa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tressa/pseuds/Tressa)



Father Francois is not a young man, but he’s been administering to his parish through rain, snow, drought, influenza, cowpox and two invasions, the latest of which is currently ongoing, so he is not, to put it lightly, easily bothered. His eyesight isn’t what it was, but he can still damn well recognize an Englishwoman and an American when they sidle into his chapel just past dawn, looking extremely suspicious and frogmarching a tall woman in a floral frock between them.

 _“Hello, Father,”_ the Englishwoman says in Parisian French. _“We need your help.”_

Father Francois tries to remember if the town is currently hosting any Nazis, and if so, does he need to hurry these fools into the cellar. “What can I help you with, my child?”

 _“My friend,”_ the Englishwoman says, and drags forward the befrocked woman by the elbow. _“My friend, her name is… Barnette.”_ One of the three makes a stifled noise. _“And she is_ \- damn. What’s the word. To birth. _Pregnant.”_

“Oui,” says what must be the prospective groom beside her, in somewhat strangled tones. “Tres, tres pregnant.”

_“So she must have the marriage right away.”_

“Marriage,” Father Francois says, picking the word out of the nonsense stream. He squints at Barnette. She’s certainly a solid figure of a woman. Her clothes don’t seem to fit, but whose do these days, and at least she seems to be ruddy-cheeked and robust enough to be in good health. She also seems to be growling.

Well, pregnancy out of wedlock makes people do very strange things. It explains how suspicious they're acting, at least. 

But none of them smell like drink, and at least Barnette and the groom seem to be holding hands, and Father Francois has married more than a few people in wartime and knows the circumstances can be - unusual. “Alright, then,” he says, motioning them back to the pulpit and beginning the process of transferring his spectacles from pocket to nose. “Do you have the rings?”

The groom’s face falls. _“Unfortunately not,”_ the Englishwoman says. _“The war, you know.“_

Father Francois does know. “It’s alright, my dear,” he tells Mademoiselle Barnette. She seems very red in the face. Shy, then. She really is quite a big girl; upon closer examination her dress is not a frock at all but an apron tied over a coat and trousers. They must have been traveling. Perhaps they did not want their home village to know that she was going to marry an American, let alone one who’d got her with child.

Father Francois shakes his head sadly at this state of affairs but pages through his notebook for the rites of matrimony regardless. Young people have done worse things than elope.

“Will you be going to the town hall afterwards?”

“Pardon?”

“For the marriage certificate,” Father Francois says, peering at them. “Jean-Claude should be there to open the office by mid-morning. As soon as he finishes with the goats.”

 _“Yes,”_ the Englishwoman decides. _“Yes, of course. Thank you very much. We... simply felt it necessary to arrive here first.”_

 _“Under the eyes of god,”_ the groom says solemnly, in much worse French. Mme. Barnette shifts slightly and the groom gives a muffled yelp.

Father Francois finally finds the page where he recorded the rites. Time was he did dozens of these from memory, but lately there haven’t been many weddings and he’s been having to write out his daily chores anyway so as not to forget. Old age is truly a terrible thing...ah, well.

“Your full names, please?”

 _“Barnette… Jacqueline… Jacques,”_ the Englishwoman says before the other two can open their mouths. _“And Stephan Grand….Rocher.”_

Father Francois looks at her, then at the groom. “He is French?”

“Ah… non. _His father was, however. He emigrated. To America.”_

“Ah.” Father Francois focuses on the notes again. “Well then. All rise, please. Dearly beloved…”

The marriage goes quite smoothly. “Barnette, Stephan, have you come here to enter into marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?” Father Francois asks, and after muttering something under her breath Mme. Barnette agrees with her future husband that yes, she is here on her own and coercion-free. The Englishwoman stands poker-faced throughout the service, only occasionally reaching out to steady Barnette or at least touch her back in a way that makes Mme. Barnette scowl impressively.

The bride and groom are holding hands, at least. Father Francois tries to think the best of all God’s children, and he hopes the massive American and his sizable wife find love together or at least be kind to the child.

“What God has joined, let no one put asunder,” he finishes, and while the newly Madame Rocher is still red-faced it’s the American husband who’s blinking rapidly and wiping at his cheeks.

“Wonderful, yes, merci beaucoup,” the Englishwoman says. _“We must be going, Father, we have a train to catch -”_

Father Francois refers to his notes, looks at her, then at his notes, then at the American. “You will not kiss the bride?”

“Absolutely I will,” the American says damply. He swipes his nose on his sleeve, grabs his new wife by the biceps and comes in on an approach Father Francois has heretofore associated more with German bombing runs than kissing. Madame Rocher grunts and slaps Mr. Rocher’s back a few times until he detaches himself with a wet pop. Definitely a farm girl, Father Francois thinks.

“Fantastic,” the Englishwoman says. “Bloody amazing. Superb. Barnes - ette - you look radiant. Now come on, before he calls the gendarme -”

Father Francois watches them hustle out, bemused. He hopes they catch Jean-Claude before he leaves to tend to the cows. They should be alright to wait in the village square if he’s late, at least. They probably won’t stand out much as travelers even if a German patrol goes through.

Though, Father Francois muses, that Barnette girl might do well to remove that rifle from her back.

**Author's Note:**

> this probably didn't happen in ithlyn ""canon""", but honestly who can be sure


End file.
